


This is (not) where I belong

by sashushilda



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1916, Crowley and Aziraphale work together, Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), Historical, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Angst, Lost Aziraphale, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rasputin Assassination, Romance, Russian Empire, Saint Petersburg, Scared Aziraphale (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens), Winter, but also NOT the Arrangement, no graphic details
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashushilda/pseuds/sashushilda
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley last saw each other in 1862 and it didn't end well. It's 1916 and Aziraphale is sent to Russia to do something he is not so eager to do. So is Crowley. They have no other choice but to work together and maybe understand a thing or two along the way.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. the only hope

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in Russia in 1916. It's about killing someone, but really it's about finding love and understanding.
> 
> Relationships include Felix Yusupov and Crowley/Aziraphale, but if you're bothered by it, I want to reassure you that there won't be anything harmful to the husbands' relationship and love. Felix has a sweetheart of his own. But that's for later.
> 
> I will add more tags as I go.

_Russian Empire, 1916_

Aziraphale was walking down the Neva river bank dressed in a shipskin coat and a fur hat. Russian winter was not good on him. It wasn’t about the temperature as he couldn’t get cold, it was more about the gloomy city of Saint Petersburg that made him slightly depressed. The nights were extremely long, days so short he couldn’t even notice how the sun appeared and then hid hastily as if it didn’t want to look and the miserable city for too long.  
The only thing Aziraphale really liked was the river – covered in ice and snow. If you were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of sunshine pour all over it, you had to cover eyes – that’s how bright it was. What a drastic contrast to the ever grey and suffocating walls of the Russian capital! Of course he could enjoy the architecture of the bridges, the Winter Palace and all the cathedrals, but even they looked desolate in the darkness of an early morning. 

Saint Petersburg, actually Russia as a whole felt like it had been abandoned by God a long time ago. Aziraphale couldn’t fathom how a country so big, so devoted to God, could be left to survive on its own. He looked Russian people in the faces and couldn’t find any trace of happiness. Even when they were smiling their eyes remained untouched by joy.  
At first, he blamed it on the Great War, but the longer he stayed in the country, the more he realised that the devastation was deeper, woven into the very souls of people. He’d read all the greatest authors – Tolstoy, Dostoevsky and concluded that being miserable was a quality that made Russians stand out. Even Chekhov’s short stories, which many of his Russian acquaintances found hilarious, were filled with _toska_ , sadness. Was it because these people knew they were all alone? No, they couldn’t. Wherever Aziraphale went, he saw churches and cathedrals. Some of them were enormous and rich, some tiny and modest. Churchgoers were praying and crying inside of them, kissing icons and lightning candles. Like an unloved child desperately tries to win his mother’s love, Russians were eager to show Her their devotion.  
But maybe Aziraphale was wrong all along. Maybe She did care about them, maybe it was another test of how much a person could endure before turning their back on religion. An angel of his modest rank could never understand that, nor could he ever think of questioning Her ways. That was what he was telling himself.

Aziraphale had been restless all night. He couldn’t stay inside his lodgings anymore, so he decided to take a stroll. He covered his mouth and nose in a wool scarf, so that one could only see his frowning eyebrows. He was thinking about the assignment which got him here in the first place and was trying to come up with an excuse to stay out of it.  
Suddenly, he saw a tall dark figure bent slightly over the railing, looking at the frozen river. His heart started racing and the first urge was to start running, waving his arms and shouting the name.  
Aziraphale quickly realized it was not an option, so got hold of himself. Nevertheless, he sped up a little and dragged the scarf down to uncover his mouth.

“Crowley, is that you?”

The man straightened and turned to face him. He was wearing a long dark peacoat with a fur collar, a black flat cap and sunglasses. He then turned back to look at the river. Aziraphale came to stand next to him trying to fix his gaze anywhere but on the person beside.

“Didn’t expect to find you here,” he started.  
“Mmmhm.”  
“It’s been a long time.”

Aziraphale waited for a reply, but got none. He knew they had left things pretty indeterminate the last time they’d seen each other, but for some reason he didn’t expect to find Crowley still mad at him. After all, never had he ever stayed cross with the angel for more than a couple of years. They would usually part for some time only to stumble upon each other and the demon would always come back to his usual self. Apparently, the whole holy water question hadn’t ceased its grasp on Crowley’s mind yet. There was nothing Aziraphale could do to change the situation, his would never dream of helping Crowley with it. He’d never wanted to be an executioner. He was desperate not to become one.  
So they stood in silence for some time.

“What do you want, Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice was tired and he sounded like he was done with everything in this world.  
“What do you mean? I saw you in the most unlikely place and was supposed to just pass by?”  
“Is it though? An unlikely place? I mean you’re here, after all.”  
“I’ve been assigned to come and, well, do some heaven’s job.”  
“And it hasn’t crossed your mind that I could be assigned to do the opposite?” Crowley finally turned to Aziraphale and leaned unto the railing with his elbow.  
“Come to think of it, no, it hasn’t. Pretty stupid of me, right?” he chuckled nervously.  
“Let’s take a walk, the river’s getting boring.”

They turned their back on the Neva and began walking slowly. The sky started to turn grey instead of black, the city was waking up and occasional passers by were rushing past them to get to their destination point as quickly as possible so as not to stay outside for too long.

“The guy is huge, have you seen him already?”  
“I, uh, yes, a couple of times. We had a conversation at Yusupov’s palace several days ago. Not a pleasant person. But I couldn’t expect any less from a man working for your side.”  
“Eh? What? He’s not working for my side. Never has, never will. He’s a self-made moron. Look at this place, angel.” Crowley waved a hand to the the streets around them. “You think it needs any Hell’s intervention? It’s fucked up enough thanks to Emperor’s family and _him_.”

Aziraphale froze to the spot.

“You had nothing to do with it?” he couldn’t believe that the Romanovs, one of the nicest people in Russian royal history, could let their country grow devastated without any occult presence.  
They gave the most amazing balls with people dancing gracefully, served splendid food – black caviar with pancakes as light as feathers, ice-cold vodka that made you feel hot, stuffed sturgeon with meat as white and soft as a cloud…  
“Not me, not anyone from below.” Crowley’s voice put a stop to Aziraphale’s reminiscent thoughts. He urged the angel to keep walking. “To be honest, I was suspecting Heaven’s hand in all of this.”  
“Are you out of your mind? Heaven could never…” he had to stop as he remembered what he was assigned to do and frowned. “No, Crowley, we had nothing to do with it.”  
“If your friends upstairs aren’t in the game of punishing Russia, then why are you here to save Rasputin?”  
“Save Rasputin? Crowley, I am charged with killing him!” Aziraphale felt desperation take hold of him upon saying these words out loud.  
“No, no, no, no way, people say he’s holy and a prophet. Even I started to consider it real. I am here to kill him. The opposite sides, remember?”  
“You? Kill him? But why?”  
“You will have to answer this question as well. My side doesn’t like a human being so cocky and influential, it undermines their authority in the whole evil business, so… pow!” he mimed a gunshot.  
“And my side doesn’t like him claiming to have a connection with God, it… undermines their whole good business.”

They were both standing now and blinking at each other. 

“So where does it leave us, Crowley?”  
The demon smiled.  
“From my point of you, the situation grew a lot more interesting. Breakfast?”

Aziraphale and Crowley walked into Cubat, one of the most prominent restaurants in Saint Petersburg. It was situated on two floors of an old building right in the centre of the city. The main hall was large, its marble decorations and enormous chandeliers could fool a person into believing they were going to dine in a museum. Aziraphale was fascinated by its beauty every time he set foot there, Crowley found it too much. This time of the day it hardly had any patrons. All writers, poets, ballerinas and their rich friends had long gone home to sleep after a night of drinking extraordinary amounts of champagne. Waiters were floating among the tables like ghosts in their crispy white shirts and bow ties, talking quietly to several guests and taking their orders.

Aziraphale and Crowley were ushered into a private booth where no one could disturb them. They sat opposite each other and waited for a waiter to arrive.  
Aziraphale could see Crowley’s spirits had risen, but he still felt uneasy abou their cold interaction by the Neva. He was cautious not to say anything controversial or stupid, so decided to keep his mouth shut. Crowley was tapping his fingers on the table in a relaxed manner, taking in the surroundings.

“Actually, I’ve never been here before.”  
“Oh, dear, that’s too bad!” Aziraphale was more than happy to engage in a small talk. “The chef is a fantastic cook, he does wonders to pheasants! Not a week ago…”

He was interrupted by a waiter. They ordered a breakfast menu with a pot of black coffee. Soon their table was filled with food – white and rye bread with truffle butter, thick slices of cold boiled pork, pancakes wrapped in triangles, red and black caviar and two soft boiled eggs on an elegant porcelain egg cups accompanied by tiny silver spoons. As soon as the waiter left, Crowley pushed all the plates towards Aziraphale and reached for a coffee pot.

“Russians want to pretend they are French.” he started, pouring coffee into the angel’s cup first, then his own. “Look at the crepes, truffle butter, blessed oysters in the evenings. But they can’t run away from their nature and still serve this,” he waved a dismissive hand in the direction of grey slices of pork. “I mean the smell alone…”  
“These are not crepes, they are pancakes, _blini _, if you like. It’s completely different. And the pork is cooked with garlic, they love it. If I didn’t know you, I’d assume you were a vampire by how much you’re repulsed by it.” Aziraphale smiled at his own jest.  
“I’m okay with bloody garlic, but not when you’re surrounded by the odour all the time. Do they take baths with garlic? And don’t get me start on onion.”  
“Well, I must agree that sometimes it’s a bit too much.”  
Aziraphale took a pancake and put some black caviar on it. He was overwhelmed with salty rich taste, fish eggs popped in his mouth and mixed with a sweetness of a pancake. He really wanted to keep from rolling his eyes and moaning, but how could he? Crowley couldn’t suppress a smile.  
“Nothing ever changes, does it?” he said warmly.__

__After a while, when not a speck of food was left and they were going through a second pot of coffee, Aziraphale worked up the courage to speak up and cleared his throat.  
“Listen, Crowley.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“I know that we’re going to do something terrible soon…”  
“Killing a crazy pseudo-witcher, you mean?”  
“Ah, yes. I know it’s for the greater good, but I don’t think I can do it. I’ve never killed before and every living creature deserves a second chance…” by the end of the sentence he resorted to mumbling and was looking in his coffee cup as if hoping to find salvation in black liquid.  
“He’s a monster, Aziraphale. A liar and a heretic, who uses his influence on the royal family to gain power. He takes money from girls, rapes them and says it’s a form of healing. Same with his orgies which he claims help you to “cleanse the soul off sin”. Rasputin manipulates everyone around him. Poor Empress is said to be desperately in love with him. I have no idea what they do behind closed doors and how much the Emperor knows, but even if it’s only rumours, I find it absolutely disgusting. He’s a drunk, he’s pathetic and evil. I hate to admit it, but for once I agree with Hell and Heaven. He must be killed, angel.”  
“I know, I know all of it. It’s just all new and unnatural to me. I’m not you, after all.”  
Aziraphale immediately regretted his words, but he couldn’t just take them back.  
“Right.” Crowley nodded. “I’m a ruthless killing machine. Clearly.”  
“I’m sorry, my dear boy, I didn’t mean it.”  
“Oh, sure you didn’t.” he said in a mocking tone.  
In a burst of desperation Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand on the table.  
“You must forgive me,” his voice was on the brink of pleading. “I say the most awful things to you, but that’s not because I hate you. I’m just so very nervous and sometimes my angelic snobbery takes hold of me.”  
Not a muscle moved on the demon’s face as he was looking at their hands connected right in the middle of the table. He took a deep breath and slowly took his hand away.  
“Forgiven. I’m not Her, after all.” he raised his eyes.  
“Oh, thank you!” Aziraphale pressed his palm to his chest and smiled._ _

__Crowley finished his coffee and rubbed his hands.  
“Anyway, you’re not that wrong. I know a thing or two about killing, but I can’t be bothered to do it myself.”  
“But if neither of us want to do it, how do we… do it?” Aziraphale said suspiciously.  
“Let’s go to mine, better not talk about it here.”  
He stood up, miracled some money on the table, took his coat and started moving quickly towards the exit. Aziraphale tried to keep up the pace. Once they were outside, the angel asked:  
“Where do you live?”  
“Not far from here. Come.” _ _

__

__Crowley’s flat was just a ten minute walk from the restaurant. It was on the last floor of a five-storey building. They climbed the stairs and stood in front of an old shabby door.  
There wasn’t much space in the flat, only one room and a little furniture in it – just a bed, two chairs and a wooden desk. Aziraphale also noticed two doors. One led into the kitchen and the other one was locked.  
“That’s the second room.” Crowley followed his gaze. “I use it as storage space for all the rubbish I had to move out of here,” Crowley explained.  
“Ah, yes, you’ve always liked your surroundings to be rather scarce.”  
“And you enjoy being smothered with old stuff.”  
“It’s not just old stuff, it’s vintage!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Russian people care about their history, they don’t go and throw a thing away just because it’s of no use to them anymore. And I respect it deeply.”  
“I think they need to learn to let go. Human life is so short and they spend the better part of it dreaming about something that happened years ago. Waste of time.”  
“You don’t understand it, do you? Imagine if this flat was still filled with its history. I could take a glance and know so much in an instant. Who lived here, what was dear to them. It’s not about objects, it’s about symbols. Things they remind you of.” Aziraphale was walking around the room, brushing his palm on the walls and taking notice of every nail hammered in it – paintings, every change of shade in wallpaper – there had been a cupboard or a bookshelf. He suddenly missed his bookshop.  
“It all gets lost if you store everything in piles. You got to be more picky about souvenirs,” Crowley sighed while hanging his coat on the rack. “Anyway, now it’s not morning anymore, wine?”  
“I’d love to.”_ _

__Aziraphale sat on one of the chairs and waited for Crowley to come back with a bottle._ _

__“Have you been here long?” he heard a voice from the kitchen.  
“No, just a couple of weeks. Been trying to investigate.” he shouted back.  
“Any luck?” Crowley appeared in the door frame with a bottle and two glasses.  
“Not much. I mostly go to social events and meet people, listen to what they say. And you?”  
“Got here a week ago. I’d been thinking of killing Rasputin myself and be done with it, but then I noticed how much people hate him. It will definitely earn me extra points if I get the job done and corrupt a couple of souls on the way.”  
“Do you have anyone in mind?”  
“I met this guy Yusupov the other day. You’ve already mentioned him, right? Highly intelligent, though a bit arrogant. He knows Rasputin and despises him. He is strong-minded, won’t be easy to tempt, but in this case he wants to do what needs to be done anyway, just needs a little push.”  
“That’s nice to hear. It seems like you’ve got everything figured out, haven’t you?”  
“Meh, more or less, details are still…”  
“So,” Aziraphale lifted his his eyes, trying to avoid Crowley’s. “Maybe I don’t need to participate at all? After all, the Arrangement…”  
Crowley started laughing.  
“Aziraphale! I’m impressed at how good you are when it comes to avoiding any responsibility! No, my friend, the Arrangement is only for something opposite we’re supposed to do. This is different. You’re not getting out. Besides, I need a back up. You don’t want to rely on humans to do your dirty work, eh?”_ _

__Aziraphale sighed and finally came to terms with the fact that there was no way he was not to become a killer._ _

__“Alright, I understand. Do you mind telling me a bit more about Yusupov? I mean I know who he is, I’ve seen him a couple of times, but we haven’t been properly introduced.”  
“Felix Yusupov, yeah. One of the richest men in Russian Empire, a prince, married to the Emperor’s niece, rebel at soul, still young, loves to party, lives in this huge palace next to the Moika river.” Crowley recited.  
“Why hasn’t he gone to war if he’s young and well-known? I thought every young and rich man is dreaming of a military career.”  
“Well, he managed to avoid it, not really his scene. But he’s into charity, setting up hospitals and helping the needy. A nobleman at the light of the day and a wild partygoer at night.”  
“Seems to me he’s quite a character.” Aziraphale doubted this kind of person would be well-suited to work under angelic influence and definitely should stay away from any demonic impact.  
“He is. That’s why he’s perfect for this! Trust me, angel, if we do this right, you’ll be back to your bookshop in less than a week.”  
“I know I shouldn’t, but I do trust you with this. What do I do?”  
“I suggest we meet him, find out where he stands with this hatred of his and we’ll just help him figure out what to do.”  
“But we’ll need to guide him through this and go with him?”  
A spark of hope flickered in Aziraphale’s chest. Maybe the answer was “no”?  
“Yes. You want something done right – do it yourself. Partly. At least.”_ _


	2. nobody but him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley meet Felix Yusupov

Aziraphale and Crowley agreed to meet prince Felix Yusupov two days later. Thankfully, Cubat provided private booths where they could have their conversation uninterrupted without putting too much pressure on the man. The two of them had already been there for half an hour when the prince entered. He was marvelously handsome with his dark hair and pale eyes, tall and dressed to the nines. He had a strong presence – a sign of a strong personality. Aziraphale immediately felt uneasy, although he couldn’t place his finger on exactly why. Felix didn’t notice this as at first. He was only looking at Crowley.

“Mr. Crowley!” he exclaimed and spread his hands to give him a tight hug and a pat on the back. “How lovely it is to see you!”  
“Same here, how are you?”  
“I’m just great, really!” Felix turned to Aziraphale. “And I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, though Mr. Crowley has told me all about you, Mr. Fell.” He reached a hand to the angel, who stood up to greet him.  
“Pleasure. May I say that your English is wonderful.”  
“You really flatter me! But I must admit I went to college in Oxford. The happiest days of my life, oh how I miss the city!” He sat down opposite them. “Gentlemen, have you ordered anything yet?”  
“Just a bottle of wine,” Crowley replied.  
“Oh no, that won’t do. Waiter!” he called out in Russian and a man appeared there in a second, as though he’d been waiting just outside. “Bring us the best and the most expensive champagne you have. What’s chef’s special for today?”  
“Sterlet stuffed with scallops in white wine sauce, sir.”  
“Perfect. Please ask Pierre to make a plate of best appetizers for us. I’ve got guests to impress.”  
Aziraphale and Crowley couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but it Felix’s personality left them no doubts he was ordering the nicest things the place could offer.  
“Will do, sir.” The waiter turned to leave.  
“Oh, and Alyosha,” the prince called out. “Be a dear and don’t hover outside. We’ll call you when we need you,” he said smiling warmly. Surprisingly, the waiter didn’t blush or felt guilty, he smiled back and nodded.  
“What was that about?” asked Crowley.  
Felix laughed.  
“When a person of my status comes to dine, waiters try their best to provide the best service, but I don’t really feel like having my private conversations discussed by the whole city. Gentlemen, do tell me how England is these days, I miss it terribly.”  
“You know, same as always. But also at war.” Crowley shrugged.  
“Mr. Fell, maybe you could elaborate? I know that our friend here is not the most sharing type.”

Aziraphale was stunned at how at ease Felix felt in Crowley’s presence and the way he tried to discuss the demon’s personality. Was there acquaintance a brief one really?  
“Ah, I’m afraid I’m no help here as well. Don’t want to spoil the evening talking about bombing.”  
“I agree, what Germans are doing is inhumane and unbelievably cruel. I’ve heard of bombs being dropped on central London, isn’t it where your bookshop is located?”  
“I see you’ve come prepared.” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.  
“I’ve told you, Mr. Crowley was rather lengthy at describing you.” He threw a cheeky glance towards Crowley, all smile and charm.  
“Do I need to be alarmed?”  
“On the contrary! Not even a glimplse of anything bad escaped his lips. So, how is your bookshop? I’ve heard you’re a big devotee to first editions.”  
“That’s true,” Aziraphale started to think the prince wasn’t so unpleasant after all. “I can spend hours trading over a particularly valuable addition to my collection.”  
“I admire that! You know, my dear mother is a very modest person considering her lineage, but she has always been fascinated by theatre and spends enormous amounts of money and time supporting it in Russia. I inherited this fascination of hers.” 

The waiter returned carrying a tray with flutes and champagne in a bucket filled with ice. He opened the bottle with a loud noise not spilling a tiny drop which seemed to please Felix no end.  
“Just take a look at an artist at work! Thank you, darling. May I propose a toast? Connoisseur to connoisseur?” he saw that Crowley smiled and nodded. “To the good things in life!”

They drank for some time and discussed the theatres they’d been to, debating over opera singers and ballet dancers. Felix, emotional as he was, liked to point out the slightest details of an actor’s voice, every intonation in particularly interesting moments. He tried to act some lines out laughing at his own inability to do it properly. Aziraphale would have enjoyed their conversation immensely if it hadn’t been for one thing. Crowley. To be more precise, Crowley’s relationship with Felix. It hadn’t occurred to him that while he was free to enjoy someone’s, anyone’s, company, he resented the thought of his demon doing the same. He laughed and gestured emotionally, trying to convince Felix that Shakespeare’s tragedies were boring and predictable. He even touched him, pushing his shoulder trying to stop him ranting over how overwhelmed he was every time he got to see Hamlet on stage. And Yusupov was more than happy to repay Crowley with the same warmth tenfold stronger.

“Aren’t you a cheeky bastard, Mr. Crowley,” said the prince, drunk with champagne and good company. “You come to Moscow, I’ll take you to the best theatres and make you the most devoted tragedy lover.”  
“I wouldn’t understand a thing even if I agreed,” Crowley smiled and shook his head.  
“You don’t have to understand the words, silly. It’s the passion that counts! Tell him, Mr. Fell!” he exclaimed and turned to the angel.  
“Yes, rather.”  
“Now that’s the person who understands me!” he pointed at Aziraphale, but was facing Crowley again.  
“Mr. Yusupov, I’ve just realised that I haven’t had the chance to ask how you met Mr. Crowley in the first place. I suspect it’s quite a story to hear.” Aziraphale was trying to play it cool, but he noticed the slightest turn of Crowley’s head which indicated he could read him like a book.  
“Please, call me Felix, I don’t like formalities. But you’re absolutely right, that is quite a story. I…”  
“You know, it’s getting rather late, let’s not waste our time with trivial tales,” Crowley interrupted.  
“No, no, you know me, dear, not a story is boring or trivial to me.”  
“Fine.” Crowley sat back and crossed his arms.  
“Don’t be embarrassed, my friend, we’ve all been there,” Felix laughed. “So I went to a gypsy restaurant pretty late at night. Mr. Fell, you should listen to their songs, they’re captivating. And when it’s multiplied by nice people and alcohol, it makes you want to listen to them forever. Anyway, I was rather drunk and saw this strange men, dressed all in black, wearing sunglasses of all things, with short hair as bright as fire and speaking English. I was so intrigued, I just had to approach him! That was one of the drunkest and surreal nights of my life, and let me tell you, I’ve had plenty.”  
“I see, so you really bonded over alcohol and gypsy singing,” Aziraphale said nodding with pursed lips.

Crowley was looking at him and rubbing his chin. Aziraphale looked back and tried to smite him by the sheer force of a stare. He couldn’t understand the burning feeling in his chest and a sudden desire to stand up and leave that very moment. Felix noticed the change in everyone’s mood and coughed politely, trying to break the tension.  
“You know, I think we might die of lack of oxygen in this room. What do you say to going back to my place? It’s really not that far and we could take a stroll if you’re ready to get a bit cold.”  
“That’s a wonderful idea, Felix. What do you think, Mr. Fell? I don’t feel like going home now, do you?” Crowley replied.  
“Don’t you have a wife and a daughter, Felix?” Aziraphale was not in the mood to continue the evening and desperately wanted to go home to contemplate his feelings.  
“I live in such a big place, they wouldn’t notice were we to invite the whole restaurant along with all the staff. And they’re in the Crimea now, trying to run away from winter. ”  
“Alright,” Aziraphale sighed and forced a smile. “I guess we may go, then.”  
“Splendid. Let me cover the bill.” Crowley prepared to take the money out of his inside pocket.  
“No need for that, they will just send it straight to mine. You’re the guests, after all, what kind of a person would I be if I let you pay for yourselves?” Felix stood up and gestured them to do the same.

All three of them stepped out into the cool night air and breathed deeply. As they were walking to Yusupov’s palace, Felix kept pointing at buildings, telling stories who lived there and gossiping shamelessly. Aziraphale didn’t like it, but couldn’t help smiling at funny remarks. At some point the prince hooked his arms through theirs and started dragging them along at faster pace.  
“Gentlemen, I’m freezing, let’s speed up a little bit!”  
“You’re Russian, shouldn’t you be comfortable? Winter is in your blood,” Crowley observed.  
“Right now, champagne is in my blood. You Europeans come here and walk the streets in thin coats while we put on layer after layer to stay warm,” Felix laughed. “We’re not comfortable with cold, we’ve just learnt to dress accordingly.”  
Of course he didn’t know that his companions could well be naked and still not feel a thing.

Finally, they reached the place. The palace. The yellow-walled building was enormous, with columns on both sides of the main entrance. The inside was even more pompous, with marble staircase and statues, crystal behemoth of a chandelier and rich carpeting. Felix leaped up the stairs like a boy.  
“Come, come! If we stay here longer, I can’t promise any of my staff won’t show up and scold at us for being naughty.”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances and followed him. They went through corridors and large halls, all the walls were covered with paintings, fretwork covered in gold and antique furniture. Felix had no intention to show off, he wasn’t even paying attention to anything. This was his world, something he grew up with and stopped noticing a long time ago.  
He led them into a small private office with several cabinets, armchairs and a sturdy redwood table.  
“This is where we can enjoy ourselves without waking up the household.” He sat down and lit up a cigarette. “Do you smoke?”  
“No!”  
“Yes.” Crowley reached for one.  
“Since when, if I may ask?”  
Crowley just shrugged.

It wasn’t like Aziraphale was worried for Crowley’s corporation or didn’t like the smell of tobacco. He was hurt there was another thing he didn’t know about his friend. It started to dawn on him how much he’d missed his demon all these years. Actually, there wasn’t a night he didn’t think of their last argument over holy water. He was torn off by guilt. In the darkest moments he’d start wondering if Crowley was still alive. All of this came into his mind the moment Crowley inhaled the smoke and let it out, holding the cigarette in his long fingers and scratching his eyebrow. The demon was tired. It showed in the way he was sitting, not his usual relaxed self, but rather like a pile of skin and bones. Felix’s presence started taking its toll and they hadn’t even once mentioned Rasputin. The prince didn’t seem like the kind to worry about anything. Why did Crowley think he was fit for the job?

“Now, we drink vodka.” Felix smashed his fist on the table and smiled menacingly.  
Crowley sat upright and nodded weakly.  
“You know, my dear prince,” Aziraphale interrupted as Yusupov was ready to call for one of his men. “I think we could do with some strong black coffee.”  
“Coffee. Yes, sure. I’ll go find someone to make us some,” he said monotonously and went out.  
Crowley sat back, turned his head to Aziraphale and smiled.  
“Wow, angel, throwing away your miracles just like that? And to take a human off his path? I’m impressed.”  
“I don’t want to waste the night away drinking with a person I’ve just met. Besides,” he hesitated, “you seem tired.”  
“I’m never tired. Tired is for people. Demons are tireless,” he protested.  
“As you say.”

Felix returned and looked around.  
“Coffee will be ready soon.” He was still smiling, but seemed calmer.  
“Felix, tell us about your hospital work,” Crowley asked.  
“What is there to say? I’m devastated and broken,” the prince gave a sigh. “What I’m trying to say, my family and I are doing everything within our power to help people, but visiting the wounded is like paying a visit to Hell itself. People lie in their beds, broken, moaning, calling for their mothers. I’ve always been the one to drink for fun, but now I drink to forget.”  
“Were you afraid to end up lying beside them?”  
“You’re asking why I didn’t go to war. Yes, many people don’t understand it, some relatives turned their backs on me and think I’m a useless human being. But, Mr. Fell, the truth is that I don’t even hunt. I can’t stand seeing a living creature die, and least of all want to be the reason of it.”

Everyone grew silent. Crowley started to doubt his decision. Aziraphale started to doubt his first impression of the man. Felix went somewhere deep in his mind.

Soon, the coffee was there along with a bowl of candied orange peel.  
“Спасибо, Сергей. Сегодня мы тебя не потревожим, можешь идти спать,”1 he said to the servant.  
“Felix, I do apologize if my question was too personal,” Aziraphale said, taking a cup in his hand.  
“No, it’s fine. There’s something that has been bothering me for quite some time and I guess your question just reminded me of that.”  
“You could share with us…”  
“… to get it off your chest.”  
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” Felix shook his head and shrugged. “It’s so complicated and rather dangerous to talk about. I don’t want to drag you into this.”  
“Don’t worry, we’re the types to be dragged into anything,” Crowley said.  
“We’re Englishmen, after all,” Aziraphale added.

“I suppose you must know who Grigori Rasputin is?”  
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances.  
“ ‘course we do.”  
“But we’re not so much into politics, dear, you’ll have to elaborate.”  
“Well,” Felix sighed, “he’s a peasant man who claims to be a healer and he’s got half of the country under his influence. He appears to be a man from countryside, simple and straightforward, living on scraps and bits from charitable people.”  
“Let me guess, there’s more to him?”  
Felix’s face darkened. “Exactly. If I were to put all of his persona into one word, that would be “con”. If I were to go into details, I’d say he’s a barbarian, schemer, cynic, persuader, debauchee, lowly sinner and the biggest threat to the Empire.”  
“Isn’t it too much for one person?” Aziraphale interrupted with fake astonishment. “I mean no one can be that bad.”  
“I wish I were exaggerating, my friend. He’s come from Siberia and that’s where it started. He learnt the Bible by heart and started reciting it at any opportunity, learning how to manipulate and send people into a trance on the way. Oh the things I’ve heard about his early days! Once he was done with his small village, he appeared in Saint Petersburg and, long story short, became the Empress’s confidant.”  
“But how can a person as clever as the her fall under his influence?”  
“Little Alexei, her son, suffers from haemophilia and Rasputin, by some chance or miracle, managed to stop one of his bleedings. The most important person in a mother’s life is the one who can help her baby. And now multiply all the feelings because of the fact that he’s the only son, a beacon of life, the heir to the throne and the future of the country. Of course poor Alexandra turns a blind eye on everything that’s said about Rasputin. Lately it has become even worse – the minute you utter a word of disrespect towards him, you’re done – lose all the power, rank, sent to a far away places where you can no longer cause distress.”

Aziraphale was genuinely disgusted imagining a man who would take advantage of a desperate mother, but he knew that Felix needed to be pushed to the limit. “That’s truly evil, but you said it yourself – the man helped the boy, didn’t he? Maybe there is something in him after all?” Seeing that Yusupov wasn’t happy with the attitude, he added, “I mean from the outsider’s point of view.”  
“Sure, Mr. Fell, I know that from the outside one can almost believe all of it. But I’ve been researching, you see. I was able to find out that Rasputin has a doctor friend who prepares some herbal opiate mixes and the whole royal family drink it believing it to be a special remedial tea from Tibet. I suppose that’s how Rasputin keeps them sedated and easy to succumb to his will. And as for Alexei’s bleeding – that was just a coincidence, the bastard was in the right place at the right time.”

“The worst thing is that many people know who he truly is – he’s rather bold when he rapes women, almost proud of it. He claims that any encounter with him is a blessing, a way to cleanse all your sins.” Felix rolled his eyes. “And if anyone dares to say no, he rages and throws threats at them. Some of the women are horrified, but some of them are tragically in love with him. When it comes to men, Rasputin just says a word about his impact on the royal family and everyone is too afraid to do or say anything against him. Most of the ministers in Saint Petersburg are his men, he carefully picks people who are easy enough to influence and suggests the Emperor to promote them.”  
“Seems like there’s nothing you can do at this point,” Crowley concluded.

Felix stood up and started pacing the room.  
“It’s true. Whenever I turn to anyone for support, they agree with me, but the second they realise what power he has over them, they run like chickens and refuse to meet me ever again. But,” Felix stopped and rubbed his hands, “I managed to get on Rasputin’s good side by paying him visits and sweet talking him. I wanted to see if I could make him an offer or persuade him that there were dangerous people after him. I hoped it would drive him away from Saint Petersburg.”

“Did it work?” Aziraphale was sitting on the edge of his armchair.

“Oh no, he’s not afraid of anyone at this point. You see, I lied to him that I was ill and needed healing. He was so thrilled by it that he quickly tried to become a friend, always asking me to drink with him or pay visits to ladies.” Felix’s face filled with disgust. “I’ve managed to evade joining his shenanigans, but I pretended to drink with him. He’s got a loose tongue once he tastes alcohol. On one occasion he got so drunk he openly talked about his disrespect to the Emperor and how he had the Empress wrapped around his finger.”  
Felix was now furious, he started to get breathless, his face turned red. “Stupid man! They’re my family, people who not only rule the country I was born in, but who I care about deeply! It only goes to show how arrogant he is! The man believes he’s enchanted me.” Felix barked out a laugh.  
Then he spoke quieter. “But the more I know him, the more I believe he needs to be gone.” Felix paused. “One way or another.”

Aziraphale’s heart was racing, he could almost feel it in his throat. That was a rare feeling since his heart was no more than an add-on to his corporation. He could only feel it when he knew Gabriel was displeased with him, when people threatened to kill him and he imagined all the paperwork or… he hated to admit it, when Crowley was there to save him. Now he was listening to all the atrocities a single man was capable of and it enraged him, but the most important thing was that Felix didn’t seem to be needing any help in coming up with an idea of killing Rasputin. 

“So,” Aziraphale decided to test the waters. “you mean to tell us that this horrible person needs to be eliminated?”  
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but that is what I have in mind. Thankfully, I have a close friend of mine who is ready to support me. Only there is one thing,” Felix sighed. “the very idea of committing murder is against my nature. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I just can’t bring myself to take the last step. Maybe one day.”

So that was the main problem Aziraphale and Crowley had to overcome. The angel wondered why Felix was so open with them, but then he threw a glance at his friend and understood that the demon was concentrating on making Yusupov a bit angrier, a bit bolder, just to tip the scale towards telling them everything. He remembered what Crowley’d said about the prince being difficult to tempt because of his strong will and imagined how tired Crowley must have been. Was there anything else they needed to know at this point? He carefully brushed Crowley’s shoulder to indicate it was time to go.

“Right,” Crowley tapped the armrest. “A lot’s been said today and, Felix, I think your mind is in the right place.”  
“Yes, quite, my friend. What you feel grows from a good place in your heart and we fully support you.” Aziraphale added up.  
“I’m so grateful you’ve been so patient with me. Hope I didn’t ruin the night with my gloomy mood.” Felix was blinking as if coming back to his senses.

The sky was still dark, but the clock had struck 6 in the morning twenty minutes ago. Felix was sober, but felt exhausted. He couldn’t understand the reason of his fatigue. He was used to staying up all night and he was always ready to go on with his adventures, but at that moment he felt drained.  
Aziraphale and Crowley suggested that he go to sleep which the prince happily accepted. He called for a servant to see them off, then gave them both a warm hug before leaving to his chambers.

Once again, it was a dark Saint Petersburg morning, the angel and the demon were walking by the river. Although this time it wasn’t the grand Neva, but the narrow Moika. Both of them were trying to wrestle with a cascade of thoughts in their minds, unable to brush it off as they always did, unable to speak to each other.  
Although being next to Crowley was almost painful, Aziraphale dreaded the idea of being left alone. He wanted to ask the demon to go home together, to talk and find comfort in his words. Crowley had always been the one to know what to say to make his angel feel better. Aziraphale gained up the courage to speak, but darted a surreptitious glance at his friend and understood that he couldn’t. What if Crowley said something Aziraphale didn’t want to hear? He wasn’t ready for that. This night offered too many revelations as it was, he couldn’t deal with more.

“I’m turning right here,” Crowley said as they reached the crossroads.  
“I’m keeping straight. So, erm, good night?” Aziraphale offered a hand. Crowley took it and squeezed just a bit.  
“Good night, angel. I’ll see you soon. Go home and rest.”

They parted and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. He urged himself to calm down and yet turned to look at Crowley’s back.  
“Crowley!” he exclaimed.  
The demon turned with a surprised look.  
“Thank you!” was all the angel managed to say.  
“Go home and rest.” Crowley waved a hand and kept on walking away.

Aziraphale was left alone, still at the crossroads, watching Crowley disappear into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Thank you, Sergei. We won't bother you anymore today, you may go to sleep. Back


	3. splendeurs et misères

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Felix visit two contrasting places and talk about love.

Aziraphale opened the door to his flat and hovered at the entrance. His living room was, just as Crowley had said, cluttered with things. He loved it and insisted on renting a place with someone’s history, he wanted to get to know the country better, to understand it. The owners weren’t particularly rich, there was nothing luxurious or expensive. Every piece of furniture was simple, but what made it precious was the age. He liked the idea of generations passing down something their ancestors had acquired a long time ago. People like the Yusupovs could throw a thing away and get Marie-Antoinette’s loveseat instead, but when people knew money’s worth they cherished everything they possessed and took care of it.  
Still, he wasn’t in the mood of thinking about heritage. What occupied his mind was the contrast between Crowley’s empty flat, Felix’s magnificent palace and this dusty old place. Aziraphale felt old. He went to a mirror and looked in it. He never really cared about his corporation, it was alright, it suited him. He didn’t like it now. His face seemed sullen, eyes lost their sparkle, lips curled downwards. The body was soft and plump. There was so much wrong with him. Humans always said that your personality had a certain mark on your appearance, so he could only wonder what kind of person he had become.

Suddenly every good deed was forgotten or got twisted in his mind.  
He’d tried to help everyone who needed him, healing people and soothing the ones in pain, giving everything away, casting miracles and getting lectures from Gabriel about his carelessness after. Strangely, the one angel who cared too much was always accused of the opposite. Or maybe Gabriel was right? Saw right through him?  
That was when Aziraphale thought of all the mean words he’d said to Crowley, how he refused to acknowledge their friendship, how afraid he was to admit that the demon’s company was something he always craved for. And Crowley kept coming back, brushing off Aziraphale’s arrogance and acting like he didn’t even notice.  
So why when the demon needed his help, he turned his back on him? Of course Aziraphale was angry at Crowley’s audacity to ask for holy water, but the feeling grew out of fear. It was something deep, like Earthly creatures’ primal instincts. A lioness growling at her cub for stranding too far away from her, mother shouting at her child for coming home late without a warning. Or a lover, who’d been waiting for their dear one for hours at an arranged place. First they got nervous, horrible scenarios playing out in their minds, then it would turn to anger and, when the person finally showed up, there would be a scene with a lot of yelling and accusations thrown. 

He got it now, it took fifty-four lonely years for him to understand. He simply couldn’t do it without Crowley. No. He didn’t want to. The problem was that it was too late to announce him that. Crowley had changed and Aziraphale had lost his trust. He didn’t enjoy his company anymore, kept secrets and didn’t even want to elaborate on anything that had happened during his stay in Saint Petersburg. What they were doing now was done out of duty, to make things easier for both of them, that was it.

Aziraphale stayed inside the whole day, he wasn’t in the mood for anything. Not finding out more about Rasputin, not trying to contact Crowley or even read. He paced around the room driving himself crazy and desperate. When he got bored of it, he moved on to sitting on the bed and even considered lying down and trying to sleep.  
He was interrupted by the knock on the door. He leapt up and hurried to open without even asking who it was. Because who else could it be?  
It was Felix Yusupov. 

“Prince?” Aziraphale was stunned. “How do you know where I live?”  
“May I come in? I promise I will tell you,” he smiled.  
“Of course, feel yourself at home. If you can, considering how different it is from your palace.” Aziraphale moved away to let him in.  
“This isn’t all yours?” Felix waved a hand around the room. “Didn’t your landlord take everything out? What a pig.”  
“No, actually it was me who asked him not to do it. You see, I hate empty spaces and I prefer to think I’m a guest here, not just a tenant.”  
“I see. You’re a very peculiar person.”  
“Suppose I am. Sorry for being rude, but I have to wonder what brought you here.”  
“Ah, yes.” Yusupov sat on a chair and leaned on the table. “I’ve been thinking about you for hours.”  
“Me? But why?”  
“Mr. Fell, I know that I’m a young man, but believe me, I’ve met a lot of people in my twenty-nine years, but I’ve never seen anyone like you. Or Mr. Crowley. I just wanted to get to know you better. I also noticed that you didn’t like me at first and I want to change your mind. Consider it a whim, if you like.”  
“Felix, you clearly got it wrong. I’m not the one to dislike or judge people. But I’m happy to see you anyway.” Aziraphale was lying so whole-heartedly, that he even believed it himself.  
“Alright, then. There’s a place I want to show you, if you don’t mind taking a short journey in my automobile.”  
“What place?”  
“One of my hospitals. Yesterday evening you mentioned your interest in how common people live, so I thought that maybe you’d like to go and see.”

Aziraphale wasn’t comfortable with the idea of spending time alone with Felix. The prince was too unpredictable, confident and honest. But since they hadn’t come up with any plan at night, Aziraphale wanted to try and work on Yusupov by himself. After all, he owed Crowley that much.

“Let me get my coat.”

They entered a beautiful building which looked like a twin of Yusupov’s palace. Only this time all the furnishing and statues were removed and the walls were lined up with hospital beds. The lights were dimmed as it was quite late in the evening. Nurses were tending to patients with different levels of injuries. A young woman was sitting at a desk and filling in a chart, then she noticed the visitors. She cast a worried look, but Felix just waved a hand and put his index finger to his mouth. She nodded and proceeded with her writing.

“I don’t want to attract a lot of attention and distract the patients,” he explained to Aziraphale. “This is one of my houses which I turned into a hospital several years ago. This war is ruthless, even the royal family help to care for the wounded, but still we don’t have enough space or staff to help everyone.”

Many people were sleeping, but most of them were awake, some seating with their backs on pillows and reading books or letters from home. The most unfortunate ones were lying down and the only thing they could do was moan quietly or shed tears. Felix led Aziraphale to a man who was busy with a book and looked alright, albeit an arm wrapped in a cast.

“Good evening, Igor.” Felix addressed him in English as they approached the bed. “How are you?”  
“Hi, Felix, getting stronger every day. Why English all of a sudden?”  
The man put the book aside and tried to straighten a bit. He looked curiously at Aziraphale.  
“I have a guest from England with me. Mr. Fell, meet my friend Igor Milyutin.”  
Aziraphale smiled and shook his hand.  
“What brings you here, Mr. Fell?”  
“Work, I’m afraid the details are rather boring.”  
“Not as boring as this book. Felix, did you decide to torture me on purpose when you brought it?”  
“Every book is boring to you. Don’t worry, you’ll be back on the battlefield in no time.”  
“Hope so! The nurse told me my cast is being removed tomorrow, can’t wait to bloody give this arm a proper scratching!” Igor shook his hand a little to indicate his irritation.  
“How’s everyone doing?” Felix looked around the room.  
“Nothing new. Survivng, dying, laughing, crying for their mothers.”  
“Where’s the boy who lost his leg?”  
“Was sent home. You know, I think he was happy. One leg is a good bargain for staying alive.”  
“But you seem excited to be joining the troops again soon,” Aziraphale mentioned.  
“That’s because I’m not an ordinary soldier. My survival chances are much higher.” Igor shrugged his shoulders. “But each has his own place, you know. Can’t all be officers. If everyone’s giving commands, who’s there to do the job?”  
“That’s true.”

They chatted for a little longer and said their goodbyes. Felix suggested showing other rooms and halls, so they went up the stairs and even to the basement. Not even the tiniest of space was left vacant, everywhere they went there were patient wards, operating theatres, staff or equipment rooms. The Yusupovs did not only volunteer to grant their house, but also paid for all the hospital needs.

“My mother has always said to me not to ever let myself think that I’m better than others because of the family money. We’re highly privileged, but it’s also a great opportunity to help people in need.” He considered something for a while and smiled. “So if you notice my arrogance, it’s not because I’m rich, I was just born arrogant.”

He was right about his arrogance, though there was a side of him Aziraphale couldn’t help admiring. The way Felix talked to the staff as if they were his friends who he deeply cared about, how he tucked in some sleeping young boy’s blanket which slid down to the floor, his smile and concern for everything happening around. This person combined recklessness and care, and he knew exactly when he was allowed to show either side of him. 

“Many people try to get profit using desperation as a ladder for money and power. This is the pettiest thing a man can be capable of,” Felix added as they started to head out.  
“You’re talking about Rasputin, aren’t you?”  
“He’s not the only one, but yes. Not only is he making people give him every last bit of their money and property for his so-called healing, he’s also tearing my family apart. This is a tragedy for the whole country.”

They were interrupted by unrest in the nearby ward. A young man was ushered there on a gurney, he was in crying in pain, waking everyone up. Aziraphale grew cold at the sound of his voice. Felix rushed there and the angel followed. Yusupov started speaking to a nurse in Russian, asking what had happened, then turned to Aziraphale.

“Poor fellow was shot in the chest and contracted trench fever on his way here,” the prince explained  
The man was pale and unrest, his forehead was covered in sweat, unseeing eyes moved frantically. The disease wasn’t lethal, but combined with a barely healed wound it caused him a great deal of pain. Aziraphale raised his hand to miracle it away, but stopped as he realised it would seem suspicious. Instead, he faked distress at a horrible sight and excused himself to the bathroom. 

There, standing alone with his back to the wall, he closed his eyes and concentrated. He thought of this man and urged the pain to go away just enough to make him sleep, he was in no position to heal the wound entirely, but made sure it would get much better in a matter of days, same for the virus. Then he proceeded to spreading his grace all over the hospital, helping people with their physical and emotional pain. And not just the patients, nurses and doctors as well, for he knew they worked tirelessly. He could hardly stand on his feet when he was done. It had taken all of his energy. He let himself get it together before stepping out. Felix was waiting for him right outside.

“Oh my god, Mr. Fell, look at you!” he seemed shocked. “If I’d known what state you’d end up in, I would have never brought you here. I’m so sorry. I should have thought better before exposing you to all of this.”  
He took hold of Aziraphale’s elbow, trying to support him.  
“It’s alright, don’t worry.” Aziraphale smiled weakly. “I guess I’m a bit overwhelmed, but I’ll be fine.”  
“Strangely, the man we’ve just seen has fallen asleep. Just a minute after you left, actually. Nurses say it’s a good sign, so you can rest assured he’s going to get better.”  
“I’m glad to hear it.”

Aziraphale and Felix bid their farewell to everyone and went out.  
“Let me make it up to you and take you to my special place,” Yusupov suggested. “It’s the gypsy restaurant where I met Mr. Crowley. There’s nothing better to comfort the soul than a gypsy woman’s singing.”

Any other night the answer would have been negative, but the last couple of days were so full of surprises, that Aziraphale decided to see what else was in store for him in this contradictory city. Not mentioning the fact that Crowley had been there too.

The restaurant was a drastic contrast to the hospital. It was full of life and colour. They were greeted at the door by a whirlpool of songs, fringed blouses and skirts with flower patterns. Everyone knew Felix and the gypsies showered him with loud cheering. Women were dancing in their high-heeled boots, playing tambourines. Their waists were entwined with coined chains which accompanied every slightest movement with cheerful rattling. Every girl had dark hair, waves and waves of it, so thick and yet so soft.  
One of the women whispered something into Felix’s ear while looking cheekily at the angel, the prince smiled and answered her. Suddenly, Aziraphale heard his name and a woman appeared before him holding a tray with a single shot glass of vodka. They were singing his name and encouraged him to drink. He started shaking his head, explaining that he didn’t like vodka, but Felix put a hand on his shoulder telling him it was rude to refuse.  
Aziraphale grabbed the glass, exclaimed traditional “Za zdorov’je!” and emptied it. He felt the rush of fire streaming down his throat, first shocking which made him cringe, and then warm and soothing. Everyone started cheering even louder, some of the men played the guitars and pat him on the back.  
Felix was laughing loudly and joined the dance. A woman grabbed Aziraphale’s hands and started dancing with him. She was stunningly beautiful and smiling at him in a friendly, almost family-like manner. She quickly felt how stiff he was, let go of him, spread her arms holding onto her shawl and started dancing around him. He was pleased with how careful she was not to make him uncomfortable or feel pressured.  
Finally, the crowd seemed to move on further into the restaurant. Aziraphale and Felix were sat at the table facing the middle of the room that had enough space for singers and dancers who now started to sing quieter so that the guests were not bothered by too much noise.

“So how are you feeling now?” Felix leaned to him with a mischievous look.  
“I would never believe if anyone told me I’d be able to enjoy such a place. I’m much better with classic music, but all of this is lovely.”  
“That is why you should always follow Dr. Yusupov’s instructions. Next on the list is more vodka and don’t even try to refuse.”

So they drank.  
After a while, Aziraphale stopped noticing the burning feeling. He relaxed and let his shoulders drop, he hadn’t noticed how tense they’d been for the last… actually, always, they were always extremely, painfully tense. Felix kept talking, standing up to interact with other guests and his gypsy friends which the angel didn’t mind at all. 

Once, when Felix returned to him, Aziraphale burst out a question which had been bothering him:  
“What happened the night you met Cr… Mr. Crowley?”  
The prince tilted his head a bit.  
“It troubles you a lot, doesn’t it?”  
Aziraphale immediately regretted he allowed his stupid mouth to act as it pleased.  
“Oh, don’t look so worried, I understand it.” Yusupov took his hand. “My dear friend, I hope you know me well enough to see how much keeping secrets disagrees with me. So you must believe me when I say that we just drank and talked. I have a wife who I love and respect a lot, and when it comes to men, well, I’m afraid my heart is occupied as well.”  
Aziraphale shot his hand away and stared at Felix.  
“What do you mean? I… I was just asking about some details of your acquaintance, that’s it! And, and you mentioned he’d spoken about me, I got curious. I don’t understand why you would start talking about your wife and your heart and… men?”  
He was speaking at an incredible speed, stuttering, blushing and even panting a little.  
Felix backed down, but wasn’t embarrassed by his mistake, in fact, he looked pretty satisfied with himself.  
“I’m sorry, maybe I misinterpreted something,” he said calmly. “Anyway, it was just that. He told me he head a friend back in England who ran a bookshop. It was days later he said that you were in Saint Petersburg as well and he wanted to introduce me to you.”  
“Oh.”  
They fell silent for a minute.

“I guess I have to explain what I meant by mentioning my friend here, I mean the man who occupies my heart.” Felix sat back and rested his head on the back of the chair. “His name is Dmitry and he’s the Emperor’s cousin, although 23 years younger. We’ve know each other for a very long time. You know when you find a person who you feel a connection with right away? We became inseparable, we could talk for hours on, we caused trouble a lot and he was ready to follow wherever I went. We even fell in love with the same girl, but he stepped away.”  
“So you’re friends?”  
“Are words and titles important when it comes to feelings? Friends, lovers, soulmates – it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am lucky enough to have my wife Irina and my dear Dmitry in my life. She has changed me for the better and he’s always by my side to support me. I don’t care about anything else.”

No one could hear them talking, but the mood in the whole room changed and a sad tune filled the space around them. A single man was playing the guitar, a middle-aged woman stepped into the centre of the room and started singing. Aziraphale didn’t understand the words, but his heart felt with sorrow at all the emotion the singer was putting into the song. Not a single person dared to talk then, all eyes were directed at her.

“What is she singing about?” Aziraphale whispered.  
“Love, of course.” Felix answered. “If you don’t mind my interpretation…”

He started translating in a low voice:  
“I loved devotedly  
All that was between us,  
All these passions and amiable talks.  
All it was but my dreams.

Autumn leaves are dancing slowly,  
The wind’s knocking on my window.  
And the memory of the time we were happy  
Unsettles my soul.”

The song finished and everyone started applauding and shouting praises to the singer. Aziraphale brushed away a tear from his eye. Felix pretended that he didn’t notice and, still looking away, said:  
“Love has many faces and expressions. You love your family, friends, paramours, your country. And it can make you feel happy, depressed, angry or vengeful. That is what I believe in.”  
“Do you love you country, Felix?” Aziraphale asked.  
Felix put a palm on his chest. “More than anything, more than my soul.”  
“Then you should heal it.”

Yusupov was puzzled by this sudden remark, while Aziraphale was surprised with how forthright he could be. The moment was here and now was the time to remember the skills Crowley had taught him to execute the demonic part of the Agreement. He looked Felix straight in the eye, slightly lifted an eyebrow and expressed everything without uttering a word. Of course, Yusupov would be convinced that the idea was his own. 

Felix bit his lip and nodded. “I think there’s something I could do.”

Aziraphale lowered his eyes and it took all of his strength not to start smiling. It was an unbelievable feeling of being in control. He thought of Crowley, his Crowley who’d changed him, who took care of him, who was always ready to stand by him. There was so much he wanted give back! Instead of following his desire to leave abruptly, Aziraphale took a hold on himself.

“I believe your judgement, Felix. Maybe after all you were right about me – I was a tad bit judgmental of you. But it’s gone now.”  
Yusupov didn’t say a word.  
“If anyone can do anything now, it’s you.”  
Aziraphale reached a hand out and Felix took to shake it. Yusupov didn’t understand why they needed to act like they reached some sort of an agreement, but didn’t want to refuse this gesture of a new friendship. 

They paid generously, exchanged hearty goodbyes with everyone and left the restaurant.  
Aziraphale felt like he could move mountains, there was so much energy in him that he wanted to express, he felt like he was born again. He asked Felix to give him a lift home, waited until the prince had left and ran to Crowley’s.


End file.
